


Deft Hands

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Chastity Cage, Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just wanted to pitch his tent and sleep, sleep the sleepy sleep of someone who wasn't going to die covered by darkspawn in a cramped, humid, smoky cave, because the dwarves were master of many things except air circulation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deft Hands

It was funny how no matter where they were, camp always looked the same. Mind you, as Alistair had pointed out to Ohgren as they limped their way wearily from Orzammar, there was only so much that you could do with sky and scrubby ground. Ground was ground and sky was wide-open sky no matter where they were in Ferelden.

Possibly he had gone on about it just to see the foul mouthed hot-tempered dwarf flinch when he talked about the sky. At least up to the point that Wynne had told him to play nicely, and also to stop poking at his bandages, otherwise they would go scabby and ooze like the last one that he had scratched.

Bickering aside -- actually no, bickering was what they did most of all as a group so it wasn't really an aside -- he was battered, bruised and not even his favorite occupation of watching the Grey Warden's ass as he strode along ahead of him was enough to stop him yawning as they finally made it back.

He just wanted to pitch his tent and sleep, sleep the sleepy sleep of someone who wasn't going to die covered by darkspawn in a cramped, humid, smoky cave, because the dwarves were master of many things except air circulation, which they hadn't quite mastered yet. Not as far as he was concerned. At least he wasn't going to die in that cave right away, immediately.

Setting up his tent was problematic, because the damned Mabari wanted to chew on his tent poles.

He tried distracting him by throwing an old leather boot at him, but that turned out to be a mistake because the war hound grabbed it then ran around the camp like a mad thing with it and then threw the damn thing back at him.

It didn't help that Morrigan pointed out the dog had better aim than he did.

He was too tired to snipe back properly and he was half gratified to see a concerned look in the Warden's eyes as he looked over at him, so maybe it wasn't all bad. It seemed like everyone was watching him tonight one way or another and he didn't feel like talking back. It took effort to be as snarky as he was, they didn't realize that. A good night's sleep, and he would be right as rain in the morning. Right as rain, that was a stupid saying. He wondered where that had come from even as he disappeared into his tent and hoped the dog hadn't chewed through the pole enough for it to be a problem.

It was good to shut everything out. Stars, Oghren's drunken humming, the war hound playing with, well. That sounded like Sten but it couldn't have been. He almost wanted to peek, but he was mostly naked and it just wasn't worth the effort.

The mostly part came from his stupid Templar, stupid chastity belt. There was a reason why Templar were in general humorless bastards, with all their vital bits under lock and key so there would be no distractions from their sacred purpose. Frankly, he'd always found it more distracting, all that metal and magic locks. Especially thinking about... certain people.

Well, about most of his team. It made using the bathroom a particular amount of special, though he could at least pee with it on, but there was always the fact that they'd _see_ it. Morrigan made less fuss about being left alone to do her duty, and never let Alistair forget it. Or the rest of the group.

He was beginning to wonder if some mage had stuck a glowing _'Oh look here's a virgin'_ glyph over his head that everyone could see. He'd lived in a monastery for Andraste's sake, then gone to the Templars, and then Duncan had taken him.

Actually he wished Duncan had _taken_ him. That way. Mmm.

Oh, that was a very bad and a very good thought to have, all at once, though there was the thrill of having the belt on. He supposed that the Templars hadn't really anticipated that, that one out of thousands of their men would sort of get off on the idea of not getting off. Well, not get off, not that he got off very often, because it was magically locked onto him.

It was only meant to be released by someone who was technically in authority over him, and that put him in a difficult situation, because that had been his Templar Commander and then Duncan and.... Well, it all came back to Duncan, really.

If he could convince the Warden that he really was in charge and oh hey, perhaps he'd like to test that authority out on him...

Well, that was an interesting thought right there.

Alistair lay back on his bedroll and drowsily fantasized. They were the last two, who better to turn to? He would broach the subject one night by the fire. Maybe he'd take him a rose. No, no he'd laugh. He didn't want people to laugh like that at him.

He didn't really expect to wake up to a dark shadow in the tent, darker than the dull dark of the campfire, a moving shadow, and he would've yelled -- loudly, in a manly fashion of course -- if there hadn't been a hand over his mouth.

There might have bit of a manly flail, because even when he realized who it was from the gleam of long blond hair and the exotic facial tattoos, this was not a particularly comforting thought. The Antivan was an assassin and this easy come easy go attitude to loyalty, it wasn't something he could get his head around. There was only one reason Zevran could have to be in his tent and that was to kill him!

"Shhh, shh, no need to cause a ruckus…" Zevran was lying down on top of him, and oh god he was going to smother him.

"Mmph!" Alistair managed which was actually in his head _'Zevran what by all the hells are you doing? Oh Maker, don't cut off anything I might need!'_

"Shhhh. I only want to… test my skills." He finally moved his hand off of Alistair's mouth.

"Pardon me if I don't find that particularly reassuring," Alistair hissed back in a bare whisper, "Because last I heard your skills were as an _assassin_."

"Yes, and I pick locks as well. I have been thinking of your particular lock here. And can you blame me?" It didn't surprise Alistair when Zevran put a hand over his groin.

"Oh, hey, whoa, well that's interesting." He could throw Zevran, he out-massed him, but right now he was paralyzed by the touch over that area. "Uh, you know, it's a magic lock and I know you keep telling everyone you've got magic fingers and, you know, offering back rubs and any type of rub you think you can get, but... Templar lock."

"All the more reason I want to try to get through it," Zevran drawled. "How long has it been, uhm?"

"How do you even know about it?" Alistair asked belatedly. Zevran was fiddling with it. That caused all sorts of interesting sensations as the cage around his cock suddenly felt very constrictive and... nice.

"I've watched you. Luridly I might add. It's very easy, to watch you." The edge of his mouth was curling up wickedly.

"Well watching is one thing and... Uh, what you're doing there is something else!" Alistair's voice rose a little. "You know, I do have my virtue and, well uh..." It did seem a little ridiculous now he came to say it aloud.

"Your virtue. Yes, I have considered that. It would be an honor to take it from you." Like his virginity was so much as picking a pocket!

"Yes, but..." Alistair began. "Do I get a choice in this? Or is this how you get your reputation? I thought you were too busy watching Wynne's bosom. You talk about it often enough. She must be three times your age and you're still flirting."

"She's a very buxom woman," Zevran shrugged. "Wise as well, and wise old buxom women still enjoy hearing that they have nice bosoms. Particularly when it's true." In with the chatter, he was definitely stroking his hand around the magicked metal.

"Uh, look, not that what you're doing doesn't stir up some interest down there, but it's not comfortable interest and you can't break the lock. I'd rather not have a night of compressed balls, so..." Alistair paused as he looked at what Zevran's fingers were actually doing. "Wow, that's uh... well, how do your fingers move like that?

"Years of work. Excuse me, I have to see what I'm doing as well as feel it." Then Zevran was sliding down his body and oh, his mouth was far too close to Alistair's trapped and now trying to get free cock.

This was pretty much what they had been completely forbidden to do. Messed with the training, the Templars said. Couldn't knock out a Mage's magic without it. No one had explained why and let's face it, he was a warrior now. Losing that ability didn't seem a bad trade from the way that Zevran was fondling his cock, pressing deep against the tight fitting cage. He wasn't a Templar anymore, hadn't been one for a long time. Anyway, he was a Grey Warden, darkspawn tainted, totally not anything the Templars were looking to welcome back into the fold.

That sort of made it acceptable.

"You must like this, to have left it on so long, mmm? Does it relock automatically?"

"Yes and it's not exactly a choice," he said, trying to remember exactly why he had put it back on after the last time free. So he could use that Templar magic. Actually that sucked as a reason, why had he done that? Still, for all his words he couldn't deny that his restrained erection was purple and aching in the device now, bulging against the silverite pins. "You now, I'm starting to think it would be better off…"

"Mmm, let me get you off, then…" Zevran slipped a fingertip over Alistair's cockhead, and it made his back arch, a spasm of sensation stabbing through him.

His will to resist eroded, because right now he wanted to come. Really hard.

"Yeah, if you can, otherwise..." Maybe Zevran enjoyed torturing him like this. He had to admit he hadn't thought about this as a fantasy but Maker preserve him, it was now. His balls were tight and feeling ready to burst, and there was no way. He was on the edge, and his dick was weeping, seeping, and able to go no further because he was bound up in spells as well as metal, and the hysterically showy lock was something else.

"I thought... you could pick any lock...." He flexed as if that would help. "You keep telling us that."

"Yes, but this is Templar spelled. I did not say I couldn't, only that this is... tricky. Challenging." Alistair heard a jangle, as Zevran pulled out another set of lockpicks. The metal was scraping over skin, digging under the bolts, in around the mechanisms. Arcs of magic started to earth themselves as the wards activated. Ordinarily painful, they served only to drive him insane. Just when it seemed he was going to snap in half from it, when it was too much, the lock finally gave, and he heard Zevran sigh. "Ah, there we are."

"Thank the Maker..." Alistair groaned as the restraint started to give and oh that was an interesting feeling. Zevran was watching him, looking lithe and like a predator somehow.

"It's a shame I don't get to keep this particular treasure," Zevran sighed, wrapping a hand around Alistair's freshly freed erection.

He guessed he was lucky that Zevran had taken off the light leather gloves he usually wore, although thinking about that would be interesting. "I'm pretty attached to it..." he managed after a gulp. "Stars above, Zevran, just don't sit on top of me holding it. Please...."

"Well, you know, I didn't actually think I could get this open..." He started to stroke Alistair, slow and easy, leaning down and back again so he could lower his head to -- oh. Hot and wet and moving and maybe some of those tales about being brought up in an Antivan Whorehouse weren't exaggeration because there was no way he was going to survive this. It was the shock as much as anything that stopped him immediately coming, but with the chastity lock removed and the stored up arousal finally able to break through, it wasn't long.

He just hadn't expected relief, after so long, to come from a thief and an assassin who seemed more than delighted to be sucking Alistair off, hard. It was more than he could stand, more than he could deal with, the ache becoming a pain of need until he climaxed with a choked back yell for what felt like a white hot eternity that blotted out everything in his mind and was left completely boneless and wiped out from the exertion.

He hadn't expected Zevran to lean back, and with a grin, close the chastity belt back into place.

"Wha...aww, Zevran! I can't undo that..." he groaned and tried to move.

"I know. But, I can." He grinned sharply at Alistair, and oh, the meaning of that sunk in fast.

Alistair let his head thunk back against his bedroll with a groan. He had a feeling he might have just exchange one form of sexual control for another, and knowing Zevran, it might be just as frustrating if not more so in the long run, but possibly a lot more fun.


End file.
